


Killing Stolas

by Iyozero



Category: Helluva Boss (Web Series)
Genre: Adultery, Attempted Murder, Bodyguard Blitzo, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Power Dynamics, Powerless Stolas, Rating May Change, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27386539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iyozero/pseuds/Iyozero
Summary: After an assassination attempt leaves Stolas without his grimoire and powers, and the I.M.P without an office, Blitzo and the gang have to keep Stolas alive and well while they try to unravel a murder plot that will change their lives forever.
Relationships: Blitzo/Stolas (Helluva Boss), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 208





	Killing Stolas

**Author's Note:**

> I'm making a lot of assumptions about Hell's society, Stolas' relationship with his wife, Stolas' powers, and the way magic works in Hell here, so if these assumptions are disproven by canon in the future, just treat this like an AU.

_Just… get here at 9:00 PM. I need you here right as we close. It’s important, Stolas._

Blitzo’s words from that morning’s phone conversation perplexed and troubled the prince. What was he to make of it? Blitzo never normally called him to his place of work, and when he did, it was usually in relation to some financial issue or another. It was never normally phrased so dramatically. There was something about the words he used. I _need_ you here, he said. It’s _important, Stolas_ , he said. It set Stolas’ heart aflutter. It wouldn’t be a date, and he was sure they wouldn’t be going home together that night, but it may be something flirtatious or at least cordial. He knew it may be foolish to interpret romantic undertones where there may be none, but an old bird could hope. He could dream.

He stood at his mirror, preened, and brushed his feathers in a sweeping motion, out and away. Clawed fingers pierced the layers of downy fluff which covered his chest to rearrange, reshape, and accentuate. Clothes were pulled on, clasped, buttoned, and smoothed. The white, speckled fur of his cape collar ruffled with the movements of his shoulders as he placed his crown atop his head. There was a smile on his face. No matter the reason for this impromptu meeting, Blitzo would still be there, and that made it worth the trip. Perhaps he could convince the imp to join him for dinner. They were meeting awfully late, after all.

A footfall on polished marble at the entrance to his boudoir caused the prince to still in his movements like prey attempting camouflage in the presence of a predator. He knew who the footsteps belonged to without having turned to confirm their source with sight. After a moment’s silence, Stolas moved to straighten his feathers once more, if only to give the illusion of preoccupation. 

“My dear.” He greeted, his tone impeccable in its propriety. 

“Stolas.” Came the stilted response. The sound of the woman’s voice, so deep and controlled, inspired an edge of defensiveness in Stolas. He knew from years of experience that you could never let your guard down around this one. There was a long silence before the voice spoke again. “You’re dressed. What business could inspire such a late outing?” She asked.

Stolas heard the judgement in her tone as well as the many unspoken accusations punctuated in her T’s, and by the hiss of each S. There was nothing quite like a leading question to raise tension in a room of Hell’s aristocracy. Stolas placed his hands on the plum tinted wood of his vanity while he searched his thoughts for the most correct response.

“Why, the usual sort. Something rather important seems to have popped up at I.M.P, so I’ve been asked to make an appearance to get things sorted.” Stolas explained, honest. He had nothing to hide.

“Hm.” The woman at his back breathed an amused grunt. “So, it’s a conjugal visit, then.” She said.

“I am an investor in the business.” Stolas responded, finally turning to smile at his wife. He leaned backward to maintain some semblance of nonchalance, though this caused the handle on one of the vanity’s drawers to dig into the base of his tail feathers through his cape.

“Oh, I’d agree. You’re _quite_ invested.” She did not mirror his performative casualness, instead seeming to stand all the straighter, her posture regal.

Stolas’ smile tightened.

“My dear, ponder with me for an instant that this business meeting of mine, for which I may be late as a result of this little discussion, were indeed a front for some more _private_ evening rendezvous. What of it?” He asked, patience tested but holding. They’d had similar conversations before, all of which tended toward passive aggression from the both of them, and unspoken disgust on the part of the princess. It was all rather droll, this tedious back and forth. He wished she’d speak her mind.

“Yes, let’s just imagine that were the case and say that I’d hope, in that event, you’d spare a thought for our family’s reputation, namely the reputation of our _daughter_.” The princess said.

The mention of his precious Octavia caused the prince’s eyes to narrow, although his smile remained intact.

“You speak as though the revelation of extramarital affairs were somehow… unexpected. Especially for us, dear. You have your duke. Why should my dalliances reflect any more unfavorably on sweet Via?” The prince asked.

“Exactly that. I have my _duke_.” Her frown became severe as she continued, her voice belying clear disapproval. “I am not getting stuffed by lowborn, inbred filth.” 

She’d not even finished her sentence and Stolas’ smile was gone, replaced by an offended grimace. The feathers on his chest and under his hat raised, combative. If not for the shot of anger that burned in his brain at that moment, Stolas might have found himself impressed by his wife’s ability to maintain an air of poise after having spouted such crassness.

“Now, now, I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from speaking of him that way.” Stolas said, his tone warning, the last dregs of his tolerant façade sifting from his grasp like fine sand.

“Am I wrong?” The princess asked.

“What, he crashes a tea party and suddenly he’s deserving of this gross lack of decorum?” The prince returned.

“It’s an imp, Stolas, it was never deserving of decorum to begin with.”

“Really, dear, are we stooping to such lows as that?” Stolas’ brows pinched. He’d admit that for a time he’d thought he’d understood Hell’s disdain for it’s true native-born denizens, but he’d since grown above those old fashioned opinions. Blitzo was wonderful from his curved horns down to his pointed boots. What was really wrong with being an imp?

“I actually preferred the last one. His status wasn’t _quite_ so embarrassing. Although the revolting nature of his profession did-”

“Please. Let’s not talk about him and Blitzo as though they are even vaguely comparable.” Stolas said, cutting the princess’ lecture short. He didn’t like speaking of past affairs or past loves, but especially not… him. She knew that, Stolas knew. She’d not seen the parts of that creature that the prince had. She didn’t know what he’d done. Blitzo was a better man by every conceivable measure, imp or not.

“Fine. My only point is that your standards are lowering. An overlord of lower class is one thing, but an imp is on another level entirely. It is an _embarrassment_ , Stolas.” 

“ _He_ is _twice_ the lover your beast of burden could ever be.” Stolas spat. “I think you know that. No, in fact, I think you’re angry you hadn’t met him first.”

The princess’ mask finally cracked, her face contorted with undisguised repulsion.

“I am a Princess of Hell! I am not made jealous by the potential loss of coitus with some diseased _imp_!” She snapped.

The two avian demons glared at one another, the energy in the room so tense and hostile it was as though it were tangible. The air around them felt like static. Stolas’ arms and scalp tingled with the heat of anger and magic beneath his skin. The princess’ luxurious head of feathers flared, her calm façade undone. The two remained like that, clenched fists trembling in barely contained rage, eyes glowing red, faces twisted in practiced expressions of hate perfected over centuries of matrimonial unhappiness.

They’d never been in love. Never. Stolas can remember a time they’d liked each other, having danced for years together in the same waltz of resentment and distant friendship. Now that Octavia was almost of age, however, their need to maintain mutually assured tolerance of one another for their child’s sake had lessened, as well as their desire to.

“I will be late for my meeting.” Stolas finally broke the silence between them. He smoothed his hands down the front of his chest, willing the fluffing down as he tried to regain himself.

The princess stared for a moment longer before she turned on her heel to face the hall.

“Just this once, see to it that you aren’t seen. I’m having a luncheon tomorrow and Octavia doesn’t need to hear her mother making excuses to our guests for her father’s behavior.” She didn’t wait for an answer. Her heels clicked down the hall, the sound echoing until deafened by distance. 

Stolas’ weight fell heavy on the vanity chair. He bent forward, resting his face in his hands and using his palms to muffle breathing belabored by emotion. That woman knew just what to say to make Stolas feel guilt for the things that made him happy. It was a talent they shared when addressing the other. He knew his verbal blows would stay with her for days and if he weren’t so bothered himself, he would feel an apology was in order. There would be no apologies, though. Perhaps they’d make a show of pretended regret in the morning at breakfast, but nothing would be forgotten. It always ended like this.

“Blitzy…” He was happy he’d get an excuse to see him tonight. He stood, turned, stepped, and stopped. He’d been about to enter the hall and descend the stairs to call for his chauffeur, but then he thought, perhaps she was right. Maybe he should make more of an effort not to cause a fuss tonight. He knew his car was easy to recognize and that rumors spread fast down here. He’d portal straight there. It was a waste of energy, but one so small it shouldn’t matter.

Stolas sighed through his beak and reminded himself this was for Via. He’d have to look into this reputation business later where it regarded his daughter. It all sounded suspicious to him, but until he could confirm his own theories, he’d comply with his wife’s suggestion. He lifted a hand and drew a circle in the air with his pointed claw. From its tip bloomed a rose-red plume of mystic fog. The cloud swirled in its center before it cleared to reveal the perfect picture of his desired location, a dim-lit office with macabre décor and a desk. There sat a long-horned imp crouched over a few loose papers.

He saw Blitzo on the other side as he noticed the portal appear. It caused the imp to flinch in his office chair, making Stolas chuckle. The mere sight of him was enough to brighten his mood. With a newly acquired smile, Stolas stepped through the arcane gateway.

Walking through a portal felt like passing through a wall of water you could breathe. The magic embraced his flesh, molded to his body, pressed, seamless against every hair on every feather, every thread in his clothes, like a second skin. He pushed through the shimmering membrane that was his exit, the energy rippling ruby in the shape of him as he stepped out. Talons touched the coarse, hardwood floors of I.M.P’s executive office. The portal closed, dispersing in a maroon mist. 

“Good evening, Blitzy.” 

“Stolas, we aren’t closed yet.” Blitzo responded, brows raised. “Also, what’s up? You get tired of your fancy car?”

“What?” Stolas blinked, eyes round in the way only an owl’s could be. A look at the clock confirmed it was 8:45 PM. He was a full fifteen minutes early. When he took a moment to wonder what had happened he remembered that when he’d been in a rush at the manor, he’d been factoring in the length of the drive. After he’d realized his mistake the owl’s cheeks pinked. “Oh, dear. Apologies. I suppose I was just excited to see you tonight.” He said.

The prince took the initiative and sat down in the chair opposite Blitzo’s desk, an easy smile spread over his beak. He crossed his legs, one taloned foot set to bobbing to the rhythm of some imaginary tune.

“Now then, what was it you wanted to speak to me about?” Stolas asked, his hands folded in his lap. 

Blitzo gave the prince a once over, his gaze flicking up and down, pensive. He stood from his desk chair and went to his window to close the blinds. After twisting the slats in the shade closed, he used a finger to pull down a small section at the side so he could survey the street below them. After a moment, he retracted his hand and came back to his desk. He didn’t sit again, however, and instead slapped his hands down on either side of the paperwork that laid there. He leaned forward and spoke to Stolas, his voice low, his tone conspiratorial.

“I got this shit in the mail this morning.” The imp slid the papers toward the other and spun them so that he could read.

Stolas leaned over his knees to give the paper a casual skim. All of a sudden he blinked, halted, and brought his eyes back to the top of the page as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just read.

“I took it to everyone in the office thinking it must have been some type of prank. It took some interrogation, but I don’t think any of them are lying. This is legit.” Blitzo bit his lip and paused, stabbing his fingers into lines he wanted Stolas to pay extra attention to. “We gotta take it seriously. I thought you’d like to know about it.” Blitzo said, his gaze glued to the paper.

He didn’t look up even as Stolas snatched the papers and read them in thorough detail.

_To whom it may concern,_

_You are hereby instructed to eliminate Prince Stolas of Lucifer's court_

_by any means necessary. The deed must be done before the full moon rises_

_on the 26th of the month and the Lunar Sacrament has been performed._

_Somebody wants this fool erased. Payment amounting to six million in freshly_

_printed, unmarked currency will be awarded upon the deed’s completion._

_Failure is not an option._

Stolas read and re-read the letter, his eyes squinted.

“And you’re _sure_ of this document’s authenticity?” Stolas asked, disbelieving and hesitant.

“Ugh. This is my business. You think I don’t know a phony contract when I see one?” Blitzo scoffed and allowed the weight of his horns to drag his head back.

“But, Blitzy, there’s no signature. No return address. How would you even contact this person for the reward?” The owl questioned, skeptical.

“Oh my fuckin’ Hell,” The imp’s voice grumbled in a treble tone hardly audible before his head snapped back into the prince’s direction. “No shit, Stolas. What, do you think the people who wanna knock off one of you fancy-shmancy fucks are just gonna advertise that shit? Whoever this is will probably send people to check in with us at some point. A meeting point would be too risky for them. That’s my best guess, anyway.” Blitzo crouched behind his desk, tail flicking the air as he rummaged through the box beneath.

Stolas took a moment to mull over his little imp’s assertions. Yes, he supposed that all made sense, but something about this still didn’t sit right with him. Why would somebody want him dead, specifically? He had his fair share of enemies, but none that were stupid enough to try anything like this. There was also the matter of their hiring I.M.P to do the job. Stolas meant no insult to his sweet Blitzo, of course, but he highly doubted any member of this little company could even _hurt_ him in a combat scenario, let alone kill him. He was about to say as much when Blitzo spoke up again.

“Now,” Blitzo began again. “Before you insult my intelligence with any more of these questions, take a look at what came in the mail attached to that contract.” Blitzo finished his statement as he straightened up. In his hand was a silver dagger, sleek and ornate, that shone in the filtered light of Hell’s moon that slipped through the slats in the blinds. It was a dazzling instrument and immediately recognizable to any Hellborn soul. Blitzo took the blade in his hand and stabbed it into his desk with a thunk.

Stolas’ shoulders stiffened. His eyes widened with surprise for a beat before his expression settled into a look of investigative curiosity.

“An Angel’s blade.” Stolas stated.

Blitzo fixed Stolas with a serious stare.

“Obviously, we’re not taking the contract.” Blitzo said.

“Because you’d miss me oh so very much?” Stolas asked, a coo in his throat that caused some of the tension to drain from his rigid posture.

“ _Because_ we only kill people in the living world and because without you we wouldn’t be able to do that anymore.” Blitzo corrected, tail swishing behind him denoting an emotion that the bird could not decipher.

“Oh, so romantic, Blitzy.” Stolas said, his voice a lulling tease.

“Just take your damn book back for a day or whatever while me and the others look for the source? If this client has access to angel weapons and a cool six mill, that means they’re probably not fucking around.”

Blitzo sounded tired, Stolas noticed. The owl observed his face, and for the first time that evening really took in how disheveled the poor thing actually looked. There were circles under the imp’s eyes and he wasn’t holding himself the way he normally did. There was a tightness to his movements, a twitch, a look in vaguely bloodshot eyes that made the avian royal’s heart flutter. All together, he looked quite upset by this, and Stolas was going to imagine that it was because his precious imp believed him to be in danger.

Honestly, angel blade or no, Stolas didn’t see any troubling degree of risk to his own safety. It was a bit alarming, certainly, but also a little funny in a way that his would-be killer also happened to be his part-time bedmate. If they were hiring, Stolas imagined the person who wished for his untimely death didn’t have the skill to dispatch him themselves. He didn’t know much about the assassination business, but he wouldn’t lose sleep over this.

“Hmm,” Stolas hummed, his chest warmed. “If that would make you feel better, I’ll take my grimoire home tonight.” The bird’s eyes lidded in a sensual fashion when he continued, saying, “And perhaps… when all this fuss is behind us and you arrive to retrieve it, I can arrange some sort of reward for my succulent little knight in shining armor, hm?” 

Blitzo looked up at the ceiling as though he were about to roll his eyes but smiled instead, the expression appearing rather forced.

“A tip to cover the next couple days of work would be great.” Blitzo said. They wouldn’t be able to take any more clients until these matters were sorted and while they weren’t exactly drowning in business, it could still potentially impact their ability to make rent on the office space.

“Oh, I think the two of us can aim for something a bit more substantial than _just the tip_.” The owl leaned forward in his seat and walked himself towards Blitzo with his hands on the imp’s desk until he was standing, bent low to be eye to eye with his adorable prey.

On reflex, the imp took a clumsy step backwards that tipped him back into his office chair with a grunt. Blitzo looked up at the owl with large eyes from his new position and offered a nervous sounding chuckle, his cheeks darkening, though that may have been a trick of the light.

Stolas tapped the points of his claws on the end of Blitzo’s side of the desk in a playful rhythm when he leaned further into his space, stopped only by the hilt of the angelic blade still stuck in the dark wood surface pressing up against the top of his ribs. That dangerous element only served to excite Stolas, his long tail feathers sweeping the floor behind his back in a luxurious, pleasured motion.

“Blitzo, it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other in person. Our daily phone calls are an oasis in the desert of mundanity that is daily life, but I _crave_ for something more. Memories can only subdue the fires of my passion for so long.” His eyes glowed brighter with his enthusiasm, the hints of starlight pupils appearing and vanishing in a moment.

Blitzo gripped the arms of his chair, its back snug against the wall. There was no real option for escape, physically.

“Hey now, Stolas, um, uh,” Blitzo groped around for some excuse, holding a finger up in protest. “We can’t do anything here. My Loony is right outside. I can’t scar her like that.”

Stolas pouted, but raised himself up to a standing position again and placed a hand on his chest.

“Goodness, now that you mention it…” Stolas was all for exhibitionism and flaunting their activities to the servants and whoever happened to be near enough to hear them, but he drew the line at exposing their children to such things, at least intentionally.

“Apologies.” Stolas relented, brushing his hand down his front to relieve himself of nonexistent dust. “You just do such extraordinary things to me without even trying, Blitzy. It’s hard to control myse-”

A long, black arrow tipped with golden fire crashed through the office window and pierced the grimoire at their sides, setting it ablaze and cutting Stolas’ statement short.

“Fuck!” Blitzo shouted and dove to save the book. However, as he laid his hands on the flaming cover, the imp experienced, for the first time in his life, what it felt like to be burned. He yelped and withdrew his singed fingers, ripping off his gloves when they caught fire as well.

“Oh my stars!” Stolas gasped and raised his hands to help before a terrifying thought occurred to him. He spun to his left to take in the sight of his magical tome, an artifact which contained such power it should have been immune to Hellfire. The prince’s insides froze. That wasn’t Hellfire. The cover of his grimoire was scorched to flaking, deckled ash before his very eyes at a supernatural rate.

“ _No_!” Stolas cried, hands shooting toward the book but not touching it. The prince’s hands took on a red aura, an energy which forced the holy flames to shrink in time with the demon bird’s labored breathing. With the flame finally dead, Stolas reached with shaking hands for the tome’s shriveled, black remains. The room reeked of spoiled magic.

_Stolas._

For a moment Stolas could only hear the sound of his heart and the rush of his own blood in his ears. 

_Stolas._

His chest felt like ice, his lungs a tundra in his breathless panic, but then, suddenly, heat. 

Mere inches from Stolas’ face, pointed at the very center of four bright, ruby eyes was a second arrow tipped with holy flames, its shaft caught in Blitzo’s red-clawed grip.

“Stolas, get down!” Stolas’ eyes regained their focus as his body was tackled to the floor. His imp atop him on all fours, shielding the owl’s eyes from the shattered glass as the entire window was blown in. Claws and boots scraped against the office floor in Blitzo’s mad dash to right them both.

“Sir! Are you alright? What was that--oh my--what the hell happened in here?” A voice, distant to Stolas, sounded from the doorway.

“We gotta go, Moxxie. Get the others. Go! Go! Go!” Shrieking ensued when two large, masked demons wielding crossbows swung through the broken window on ropes.

Stolas’ brain stumbled three steps behind the action, woozy as though in the thrall of a powerful spell. He didn’t register his body standing at the imps’ frantic urging, nor did he consciously experience the act of being led by the hand, running into the main office and down the stairs, now joined by Blitzo’s three remaining employees. Nothing felt as important as the torched book clutched to his stomach or the numbing realization that Blitzo…

“Blitzo,” Stolas panted, stuttering through gasps for air. “Yo-you just saved my life.”

“I counted two more assassins! This client is fucking impatient!” Blitzo ignored Stolas in favor of deliberating with his team on the run and Stolas lost the thread of the conversation when the sounds of angered shouts and gasped guesses began to blend together in an incomprehensible warble of noise.

His hand glowed in Blitzo’s, and Stolas realized with a sinking feeling that he was unable to extinguish it. In fact, his hand’s red aura only brightened and spread, creeping up his arms in time with the moment’s emotional peaks and valleys. 

His body began to shudder with the power of the Old Testament, a strain he’d not had to endure in millennia upon millennia. Not since he’d been given the book. Stolas’ heart convulsed in his chest at what felt like the speed of a hummingbird’s wing beat. His pulse was painful, as though his veins were being forced to expand with the sudden excess of his magical output. When the creeping aura engulfed the prince entirely, his legs buckled beneath him and sent him to his knees, the sudden shift in momentum tearing his hand from the imp’s.

“Your highness! Are you alright?” Moxxie asked as he skidded to a stop and turned to rush back and help.

“I’ll get the door!” Millie exclaimed, bounding back toward the door they’d just come through to potentially buy them more time when their pursuers catch up with them. She jammed the handle with a hallway waiting chair and held it steady.

“Shit, shit, shit, come on.” Loona slammed her fist against the elevator call button repeatedly as though that would summon it faster.

“Stolas, this is no time for swooning, man, you gotta get up.” Blitzo said as he slipped the angel blade into his belt and pulled a gun from his breast pocket.

Stolas wondered dizzily at how Blitzo had had time to grab the dagger before their flight from the office. His pondering was interrupted by an intense pain in his hands, though. His fingers tingled, finally in a way that felt familiar enough for Stolas to recognize just what was about to happen.

When Blitzo and the little imp ducked under his arms to help him stand the prince placed a hand on both their backs and shoved them away.

“Blitzo, get away. All of you, get away from me.” Stolas pleaded, brows drawn in desperate worry before he doubled over, elbows to the floor, fists clenched, mystic red fog rising to swirl around the owl’s body.

Millie ran back to her husband and tugged him with her to the elevator where Loona was still pounding the car calling panel. Blitzo wavered between Stolas and his employees. He looked stunned, unable to process, unable to move. 

Stolas caught Blitzo’s gaze, his shoulders wracked by an unsuppressable trembling. The bird felt a twinge in his heart from something other than magic at the emotion in his imp’s stare. Blitzo. Sweet, wild, incomprehensible Blitzo.

“Blitzy, please run.” The last pieces of the grimoire crumbled on the floor beneath Stolas and just like that, Stolas was entirely unbound, his magic wild and unfettered without the restraints of his arcane focus.

When Stolas’ eyes began to blaze like the sun, Blitzo finally broke into a sprint towards his comrades. When he reached them he placed a hand on the top of Loona’s head and forced her down so that his body could stand as a protective barrier between his friends and the royal demon going supernova as though he expected him to explode. When the elevator didn’t come, Blitzo wrapped his tail around the party and braced himself for impact.

The door was broken down by the two masked assassins just when it happened.

Four different arcane gateways of varying circumference, each leading to another place, open beneath their feet and all at once the demons were thrown through. Stolas expected to be driven into the Earth, to be crushed by some distant force, or mangled by a sorcery overflow, but the hit never came. His thoughts had to work to be heard over the screams of terror and surprise from those around him, but were able to tell him in the form of spotty, half realizations, that the portals were moving, spinning, twirling like a gyroscope with Stolas as their center. They were moving in, around, and between one another, casting the party into alternate realms, out to far off places, and perhaps dragging them through other realities entirely while never allowing them to land.

Stolas recognized two portals led to different continents of the living world, one to the void of space, and another to a realm no imp nor demon was allowed to set foot in. The last portal had Stolas the most worried. 

As the portals spun, they took what passed through them _with_ them, meaning the building they’d been standing in prior to this event was being sliced to pieces like paper through a shredder. The same fate befell whichever plane, surface, or object the portals clipped in their respective realms. Things were being chopped up and thrown around as though thrown into an arcane blender.

An assassin’s weapon was destroyed by proximity to one of the portal edges just as the other lost their tail the same way. 

The owl spun about himself, using his tail feathers and arms to find some means of balance in the tornado of his own power, eyes searching for the imps. They hadn’t escaped the radius of his spells and were caught floating and tumbling through space with him, as were his would-be assassins. There was no escape for them now. Stolas realized that if he was going to save them all he would need them as close to himself as possible, away from the magical razor-like edges of his portals. 

Stolas finally caught sight of the group just as the debris caught in their orbit began to gain speed enough to qualify as deadly projectiles and, throwing out his hand, tore a portal in the sky that led directly to himself. The three imps and hellhound are sucked through, slamming into Stolas’ chest.

“Stolas!” Blitzo yelped.

“Everybody hold onto me.” Stolas instructed with a shout and the group obeyed, latching onto the owl prince in whatever way they could. Moxxie and Millie held each other with one of Stolas’ legs between them, Loona grabbed his other leg, and Blitzo managed to loop his arms around the owl’s waist.

Try as he might, the prince could not regain control. Something inside of him was going to burst if he didn’t stop his magic’s violent egress.

He wrapped his arms around Blitzo and flinched as that last portal expanded, becoming a fifth ring of death that circled them, interplaying with the others like a gear in a grand, cosmic clock. If they weren’t all about to die, Stolas would think it all rather beautiful.

Stolas looked down at the imp in his arms. Blitzo clinged to him, eyes shut tight, sweating with fear for himself and his family. At the sight of such a face from his beloved, the owl made the most potentially deadly decision he’d ever made with the least amount of clarity he’d ever possessed.

Blitzo opened his eyes when he heard the prince begin to chant in a low voice that seemed to echo inside of his head, in a language he’d never heard and could barely physically comprehend. The words were like tangible threads of darkness being woven together inside of his brain by Stolas’ lips. He knew enough about magic at this point to understand Stolas was speaking some sort of incantation, but the sound of the Old Language hurt his ears and put pressure on his skull. But then, suddenly, English.

“ _Bind_.” 

Behind Blitzo’s back one of Stolas’ hands glowed bright and blinding. Trusting Blitzo’s grip, Stolas uncurled his arms and held his breath. Stolas grabbed his own wrist with the blinding hand. The sound of his flesh frying was drowned out by the cyclone’s winds and his companions shouts. These were no match for the shriek of pain that left him then, however.

On his wrist, beneath his burning hand, a beautiful red sigil was drawn into his flesh, branding him.

No sooner had the sigil been drawn that the magic around them, suffocating and palpable, ceased to exist. Spinning stopped. Portals closed, dispatching their assassin foes, leaving half of them here, and half elsewhere, one by one in a shower of torn earth, wood, metal, rock, and blood.

The five demons were dropped like stones from the sky, the floor they’d been on previously as well as those above them having been half obliterated, half transported by the now extinguished portals. They fell in a painful heap one story down.

They laid like that for a moment, Blitzo's head on Stolas’ chest, the others holding tight to his limbs, but eventually dragged their tired and battered bodies to their feet one by one.

Millie fussed over her husband who worried over her in return. Loona sat in the rubble and hugged her knees to her chest, breathing her way through the panic that still gripped her chest and willing herself to calm down. Blitzo pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, though his joints shook with the effort, the adrenaline coursing through him causing him to shiver.

“Fuck, okay, is everybody alive? Are we all good?” Blitzo asked with a groan.

“If you can call it that.” Loona said.

“We’re alright, boss.” Millie answered.

Stolas could only clutch his wrist to his sternum and breathe. He didn’t bother standing up. It still hurt, but worse than that was the true, gutting realization as to what had just happened--what he’d just _done_. The book, his arcane _focus_ , was gone, and now he knew he no longer possessed the control and practice necessary to manipulate his magic at full strength. Although… that didn’t really matter anymore. 

Regardless, he thought, with more surprise than made him comfortable, that what he’d just done was worth it for the sake of Blitzo and his friends’ safety. 

Blitzo looked back down at Stolas, his brows pinched in a look of foreboding.

“Stolas, what did you just do?” He asked, although he sounded like he really didn’t want the answer.

Stolas took in a slow breath and broke his gaze from the imp’s before he supplied his answer.

“I… sealed away my own magic.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's here! As promised! We're finally getting into it! If you'd like, you can let me know what you thought.
> 
> Big thanks to my friend @kittyvom for beta reading for me.


End file.
